Thereís another world out there somewhere!
These people are very strange. They talk nonstop all day long.
Chatter ... chatter ... chatter!
Thatís what they do to each other. Each looks into the otherís eyes; Ugh! (I just canít do that.) And their lips open and stretch; sometimes wide like pulling an elastic band, showing pink gum and crooked teeth, and sometimes screwing into a circle when they make an Ďooooohí sound.
Sometimes they do the chattering so fast that spit falls out and lands on their chin. I donít get it!
They call it conversation. Oh yes, I know what itís called. I understand lots of things, but itís why they waste their time doing it that puzzles me.
When I need something I point or take momís hand and pull her to what I want. She always knows. I donít have to flap my lips and spit like those people from the other world.
Momís a bit weird too. Sometimes when Iím spinning she grabs me tight so I canít wiggle free. She makes me very cross when she does that. Then sheíll splash me all over with tears and ask me where Iíve gone to.
Well here I am! Where else could I possibly be when sheís got me in a huge bear hug!
ďYouíre in your own little world,Ē sheíll blubber.
Well, I like it here and Iím staying. Yours is too complicated for me. Itís noisy and makes my ears hurt. You let the light in and it dazzles me. Why would I want to be there in your world?
But I donít say anything at all in the end because she should know what Iím thinking. Why doesnít she get something so simple?
Is my mom a retard?
Thatís what I need to understand because when I go to the shops with her she grabs my hand really tight. So tight that I fight and scratch to loosen her grip and escape. There must be something really scary in there!
But when dad takes me he holds me even tighter and I just have to go in. But when I get inside I find that thereís nothing really scary after all. Just more of those horrid lips slopping around and eyeballs popping out on stalks.
Thatís when the chattering says that word,
I stick my fingers in my ears when it does it. I donít know what it is but it sounds very ugly to me and always makes mom cry.
If my momís a retard I need to know!
A woman comes to see us sometimes. I donít like her much. She smells of green and yellow so I screw shut my eyes and pinch my nose. She asks mom how sheís coping with me. That must be because momís a retard. Perhaps she needs someone to show her what to do.
Momís going on again about my little world. The woman looks at the pictures Iíve done and her fat lips makes a giant O.
ďMy goodness!Ē she says, sucking in the air. ďThis child is very gifted!Ē Momís tears spill out again. What a strange thing to do!
ďI know,Ē she says. ďAnd you should see his caricatures.Ē
I hate this womanís laugh. It hurts my ears so much. I start to sketch her jelly wobble bottom as it sneaks over the edges of our armchair. I use a large sheet of paper and choose my scarlet crayon to match the paint she smeared on her squashy lips.
Mom knows whatís coming so she quickly snatches the paper from me. Slop Lips must guess that momís a retard and tells her to let me carry on.
When she sees her portrait the woman looks stunned.
ďItís incredible!Ē she gasps. ďSuch detail. Heís an outstandingly talented young man!Ē
ďHe never fails to amaze me,Ē says mom. ďHe doesnít take after us. It must be a gift from God!Ē
So is that where my world is ... where God lives? Is that why mom throws up her hands and asks Him to help her understand me every day?
ďDo lots of special needs children have unusual talents?Ē mom asks.
ďOnce in a blue moon!Ē came the reply. ďItís not as common as Joe Public is led to believe.Ē
Iím glad mom asked the question. Perhaps sheís not a retard after all.
That explains it then; my world I mean. Iím from Blue Moon!
No wonder I canít make sense of these Earthlings!
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